The Wedding Night and the Morning After
by Whysuddenly
Summary: Darcy and Elizabeth's wedding night, and their conversation in the morning. I have in mind Colin Firth's Mr. Darcy. Thanks so much for your kind reviews - Often I can't get the links to work to reply directly, but I love to read your comments!


**"The Wedding Night" and "Conversation in the Morning"**

**The Wedding Night**

The church, the vows, the flowers, the punch, the family, the neighbors. Finally, the carriage. The Wedding Day had ended, and the Wedding Night stretched before them like the vast mahogany bed. Darcy closed the door firmly. From her place by the window, Elizabeth turned, resolutely.

"My husband," she said simply. "Here we are at last. I confess, I am quite at a loss as to what comes next."

"Elizabeth," Darcy said seriously, "I hope no one has told you tales to frighten you. It has been my understanding that women who enjoy the . . . marital bed . . . feel compelled by decorum to remain silent, while those who have found it a disappointment -- or worse, a trial -- have no such compunctions."

Elizabeth did not ask how he knew what tales women told among themselves, but she suspected, or rather hoped, that his theory was correct. He continued,

"I assure you, my dearest, I would not hurt you for the world – or, indeed, discomfit you in any way. If such occurs, you must, I pray you, let me know, and I will cease at once."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, but all she said was, "I doubt not your intentions, sir."

"Not my intentions, but, perhaps, my self-control? Have you been warned that all men are unbridled creatures incapable of restraint? I assure you, I am neither a brute nor an undisciplined boy. I know myself. Elizabeth, can you trust me in this?"

Darcy had come close, and his eyes were deep and earnest. Elizabeth leaned her head against his broad chest. Her arms encircled his waist, and Darcy held her gently. He was solid. He was warm. He was hers. She was filled with love and trust for this beautiful man.

* * *

Finally, after an eternity of bathing, drying, and brushing of hair, Elizabeth lay beside Darcy, each of them in a brand-new nightshirt of unsurpassed whiteness. His reached to his knees; hers to her ankles. A new, equally impossibly white eiderdown covered them both up to the shoulders. Two glasses of sherry sat on the bed-table along with a candle.

"These are beautiful nightclothes, my dear, but when a bed is shared by two it is . . . warmer. Are you not too warm?"

Elizabeth was prepared for something like this, and thought he handled the matter delicately. Absence of nightclothes, she knew, was not an unreasonable request for a husband to make, though by no means universal. Elizabeth replied that it might be a bit warmer than necessary. Soon the two nightshirts were becoming intimately acquainted on the floor, and the new husband and wife were following suit, at a somewhat slower pace, beneath the covers.

* * *

Elizabeth was feeling the warmth of the sherry course through her as well as the warmth inspired by Darcy's strong, sure hand. Suddenly his head and shoulders disappeared beneath the covers. A second later Elizabeth gasped and sat bolt upright. True to his word, Darcy ceased his activity at once and reappeared looking contrite.

"What…. What were you doing??" Elizabeth stammered.

"Think of it as . . . another sort of kiss." her husband offered. "I had hoped it would please you . . . but it is too soon. I hope I did not severely . . . _dis_please you, Elizabeth."

"I can hardly say….it surprised me so. But …

"Go ahead. Speak freely, my dear, I beg you."

"Is it not distasteful to you? Why would. . ." Elizabeth faltered.

"Distasteful?" Darcy's eyes twinkled. He realized now that Elizabeth's reaction was indeed one of surprise and confusion, and she was neither angry nor frightened. He could risk a playful tone. "Madam, you were 47 minutes in your bath, infusing yourself thoroughly with, if I am not mistaken, lilac water. Lilac is perhaps not my favorite libation, but I would hardly call it distasteful."

"But … this, this.. kissing, you call it. Why would one even think of it? Is it not . . . unpleasant? For you?" she finished in a rush, thinking privately, "Whatever this is, 'kissing' hardly describes it!"

"On the contrary, my dear. I was hasty, it is too soon to hope to bring you pleasure this way. But for my part, it would be very pleasing. Indeed, if you would but allow me to remove this eiderdown, which grows exceedingly warm, the extent of my own pleasure would be quite evident."

Elizabeth relaxed visibly. Wordplay with Darcy was an arena she was quite familiar with, although it was proceeding to a new, intimate level. But it did not frighten her. Emboldened, she replied archly,

"For your part, Sir? I would see this _part_ you speak of. Remove the eiderdown!"

* * *

This was done. The eiderdown was cast to the floor, where it afforded some belated privacy to the amorous nightclothes. Elizabeth blanched, then flushed, then reached for her sherry.

"You look . . . alarmed, my dear." Darcy spoke very gently. "Did you not know what to expect of a man?"

"I _thought I_ did, but, apparently, I had no idea. . . I don't see how . . . "Elizabeth stopped suddenly. Much as she appreciated Darcy's invitation to speak freely, twenty years of practice in the art of decorous circumlocution could not be abandoned so easily. Speaking freely had reached, and very nearly exceeded, its limits. Elizabeth took a deep breath and began anew. "It is, precisely, Sir, the '_extent_ of your pleasure' that I failed to anticipate."

Darcy was now actually grinning. "That's my Elizabeth," he said now to himself. "Just don't rush her. Close your eyes, if need be, and think of England." Gently he turned Elizabeth so that they nestled, her back to his chest, cupped together like spoons in a drawer. Soothingly, he stroked her hair. He stroked her cheek. Elizabeth took the hand that was stroking her so gently, pressed it to her lips, and sighed contentedly. This, resting in the warmth of his arms, she understood perfectly. She trusted him; he would not rush her. The rest of the mysteries would unfold in time.

"Be at ease, my dearest," Darcy whispered. "It will be fine. _We_ will be fine."

And so it was. And so they were. That night, and ever after.

* * *

**Conversation in the Morning**

Elizabeth awoke nearly giddy with happiness and release of tension. All had gone well. She had not realized how much strain was carried in the anticipation of the wedding day, and night.

Darcy was asleep beside her – looking as vulnerable and innocent as a boy, and, she observed, very happy. She had never seen him asleep before – and seeing him thus seemed to her more intimate in some ways that all that had passed the night before. It was extraordinary, considering how little of his person she had seen before that night, that she was now free to look upon him this way. So much skin, where before he was all linen, silk and wool. Elizabeth studied his broad back and shoulders; his tousled curls. She traced her finger down the length of his arm, from shoulder to wrist. By the time she reached his hand he was awake enough to grasp her fingers and bring them to his lips in greeting. He might have been happy to continue the communion silently, but Elizabeth was feeling talkative.

"You know," she said, "it has just struck me that our society perpetrates a monumental unfairness against women."

"More than one, undoubtedly," Darcy replied, twining one of Elizabeth's curls around his finger. "To which unfairness do you refer?" Elizabeth was in his bed, and apparently in no hurry to be elsewhere. If she wanted to spend the entire day discussing universal suffrage he would not object, so long as they could stay where they were.

"Think of it," she replied indignantly, "young ladies go out in society in all their décolletage and the shortest of sleeves, while a gentleman never reveals so much as a forearm in company -- or an elbow."

"And do my elbows meet with your approval?" Darcy asked solemnly, offering both arms for her inspection.

"Indeed," said Elizabeth, "I declare them to be the finest gentleman's elbows in all of England."

"That is high praise indeed," Darcy continued with a straight face, "considering, by your own admission, you have never seen another pair. Still, I am relieved. It spares me the indignity of having our marriage annulled on the grounds of intolerable elbows."

A smile crossed Elizabeth's face as she briefly considered hitting the master of Pemberly with one of his own fine feather pillows. Instead, she continued the conversation.

"Another imbalance has occurred to me." said Elizabeth. "A young lady's name is public property, so long as it is respectfully prefaced by "Miss." Do you realize, I had no knowledge of your Christian name until I received your letter in April." Elizabeth frowned. "I could have discovered it, I suppose, by discrete inquiry -- but really, it hardly even occurred to me that you had one!"

If Darcy was hurt by the reminder that for months he had meant so little to her, he gave no sign. He thought he knew what was bothering her. "And when my name was revealed to you," said Darcy, "how did it strike you? You may be blunt -- I have never been overly fond of it myself."

"I found it . . . rather formidable," replied Elizabeth, "Too formal to be used intimately, somehow. And then, of course, by the time I learned it was your first name, I was accustomed to thinking of it as a surname. . . " She paused, and then continued, "your cousin's surname, to be exact."

"It is, of course, a family name," said Darcy, "but awkward nonetheless. I have given the matter some thought myself. I can hardly expect you to address me the same way I address the Colonel." Darcy was serious. "Fond as I am of my cousin, and gratified that you find him amiable, I have no desire to have thoughts of him conjured up when we are alone together."

"What were you called as a child? Or were you always 'Mr. Darcy'?" Elizabeth asked in a teasing tone.

"No, I was Master Darcy, of course. To the staff and the townsfolk. My parents called me Fitzwilliam. Georgiana..." here Darcy paused, then continued quickly, "I don't believe I shall tell you what Georgiana called me -- you can inquire of her yourself, someday, if you must." Elizabeth did not challenge this, which he correctly took to be a measure of her seriousness. He continued, almost shyly, "But you could . . if you like. . . perhaps you could call me Will. No one else calls me that; it would be your privilege alone."

Elizabeth was delighted. And, she discovered, extremely hungry. Further discussion of society's unfairness towards women would have to wait, at least until after breakfast.

* * *


End file.
